


Live, Thrive, and Survive

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Gen, Hug Ignis Week 2019, Hugs, Minor Character Death, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 02:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Gladio wonders if Ignis is starting to despair. Losing sight of his goals and purpose. So he does what he always does when he can't figure Ignis out: he finds Prompto and asks him.





	Live, Thrive, and Survive

**Author's Note:**

> Hug Ignis Week Day 8: Free Day
> 
> Title from the Blues Brothers' classic https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZ3JiPNSwUk Everybody Needs Somebody to Love

Ignis gets quieter and quieter the longer the darkness goes on, which Gladio thinks is odd, seeing as Iggy's always the one boasting about how his blindness means he's better-adapted to fights these days. But he supposes fights are different. There's nothing complicated about them: find the daemons and kill them. Don't die yourself. Don't be distracted by stray thoughts; perfect focus is what keeps you alive.

The time spent not fighting is when poisonous thoughts encroach, Gladio knows all too well. Counting the years and days and minutes since Noct was taken away, or since the sun set. Taking inventory of food and water, hoping it lasts; attending meeting after meeting full of desperate measures. Ignis spent the first few years in Galdin Quay and arrived in Lestallum in one of the refugee vans that had evacuated the survivors. He doesn't talk about it. Gladio doesn't ask.

But he wonders if Ignis is starting to despair. Losing sight of his goals and purpose. So he does what he always does when he can't figure Ignis out: he finds Prompto and asks him.

"Makes sense," Prompto says, rolling the beer Gladio'd bribed him with between his hands. "I mean... he's Crownsguard, of course he is, so he's good at military stuff. But my first impression of him was that he took care of people. Noct, of course, but making me my favorite dinner when I was feeling low or making sure we always had the gil for those books you burned through."

"They're classics," Gladio points out. It's not his fault he's got good literary taste. "So you're saying we should return the favor?"

Prompto shrugs and takes a lazy swig of beer. "Kind of? But more like he needs an outlet. I'd say a pet, but..."

Yeah. Lestallum barely has enough food to keep people alive. The only pets allowed have to be able to work, catching rats or helping hunters track stuff down. Ignis is important enough he could probably get permission, but he'd never accept that kind of favoritism.

"I'll think on it," Prompto says. "Oh – Aranea's taking an airship down to Obertal, you interested? Iggy's coming."

"Sure," Gladio agrees. "I love Niflheim in the spring."

Prompto grins and shoots him with a finger gun.

*

Predictably, the snow they have to slog through once Aranea lands comes to the top of Gladio's boots, and Ignis bullies him into wearing two shirts and his jacket with threats of letting Iris know what an idiot he is. There's nothing Gladio hates more than not being able to move his arms freely, and he knows Ignis knows this. He feels guilty for being grumpy, though, thinking about that conversation he had with Prompto. He tells himself to be more grateful for being taken care of.

Prompto has no problem with accepting both a knitted cap and a scarf from Ignis. "I have a hat," he says, "but it's kind of old, and if I wear both I'll be that much warmer." He suits actions to words and immediately looks ridiculous. "There. Snug as a bug in a hat."

Ignis had been looking chagrined, but the small joke wrests a smile and a huff of laughter from him. "Keep your ears covered," he advises.

"They totally are," Prompto assures him, and then they're off, slogging through the snow toward what had once been northern Niflheim's premier agricultural university. 

Aranea insisted on parking well out of sight of the nearest settlement, but even though they find roads, with bus stops and shops, no one's cleared away the snow and there aren't any signs of life. No footprints, no threads of smoke drifting up to the cloudless black sky. They make a list of places to loot on the return trip if there's time, but their primary objective is the seed bank and any hydroponics equipment that can be airlifted out.

"So creepy," Prompto says when they find the university's main gate. Ignis hums in question, and Prompto flails his arms while he searches for words. "It's really cute? Lots of white wooden buildings with green doors. Looks like there might have been a pond or a fountain in the center courtyard. Nothing's destroyed, just worn down. Looks like a bunch of students could come running out any minute." He cracks his neck. "Okay, maybe not creepy, but sad."

Ignis nods. "I understand the sentiment," he says, "but nevertheless I hope it is truly deserted."

"Yeah. Don't want to run into... anything." 

Gladio's ninety-nine percent sure daemons won't be summoned by talking about them, but the superstition makes him feel twitchy anyway. "Let's get a move on," he says, and stomps over to where Aranea's in discussion with one of her mercenaries, Tiba, who'd studied here once.

They find the research labs pretty easily, and in the staff room there's an evacuation plan directing people to seek shelter in the basements. The map has a room marked Seeds opposite the stairs.

"Figures, "Aranea says. "You guys and underground ruins again."

"Here we go," Tiba calls. She's jimmied the lock on a metal case bolted to the wall, and inside are all the keys to the building – neatly labeled, by some efficient but long-gone office manager. "Lights forward and good luck."

Gladio's prepared for a fight, but in the end all he gets are spiderwebs in the face and a numb ass from leaning against a desk while Tiba gleefully sorts boxes and packages into carrying bags. Aranea keeps telling her they can't take everything, but from the looks of it, they're going to take at least half.

Their second hour in the icy basement is nearly over when one of the guys standing guard upstairs hollers down for Aranea. She goes up, and then a minute later shouts down that they need to haul ass.

"Communication from the airship," she tells Gladio, in between snapping orders at her people. "A vehicle under attack radioed for help, other side of town near the river." She smacks Ignis in the arm. "Keep your mouths shut around the locals, but you're in, right?"

Ignis nods. His expression is already tense with anticipation, even though Gladio'd watched him smother a yawn ten minutes ago.

And then they run. It feels great to be outside and moving. They'll need to strip off sweat-soaked clothing after the fight anyway, so might as well go all-out now. Gladio holds Ignis' wrist to guide him, and ahead of them Prompto calls out any obstacles in the road. Ignis only stumbles two, three times, but that still doesn't slow them down.

The airship passes overhead, spotlights trained on the ground, and Gladio puts on speed now that he can see well. Finally the river comes into sight, shrouded in ice and snow, and there's the car, pummeled nearly flat by a pair of iron giants. They've been distracted by the airship, and Gladio takes advantage of that to throw himself forward, sword in hand. Prompto's got a gun he adapted specially to work in cold temperatures, and he picks off the chittering goblins sneaking around in the shadows. Ignis throws his spears like he's performing a violent dance, elegant and lethal. The mercenaries keep their distance from him, which is probably not necessary but Gladio thinks Ignis'd be proud to know he strikes such terror into their hearts.

The fight's over quickly, and the airship's lights keep any other daemons in the neighborhood from attacking. Tiba and another woman have been searching for survivors, checking the car and then nearby buildings; in the silence that falls, they start calling out. Gladio can see at least one corpse in the crushed front seat; he hopes they weren't too late for any others.

There's a noise like a cat crying, very faint, and Ignis' head snaps around. He takes off toward the alley between two shops, feet crunching on the snow, and Gladio follows. Could be a daemon's trick.

Or not. There are footprints here. "Hold up, Iggy," he calls. "Body." Ignis stops short, right before he'd have tripped over the man lying there. He stretches out a foot instead, and when he meets resistance he crouches, hands skimming over the figure with practiced surety. "Any luck?" he asks, though he can read the answer in the way Ignis pulls his gloves on again.

"There's something, though," Prompto says. "Crying." Ignis nods and stands, stepping carefully over the corpse and walking forward with one hand out. "There's just a skip there," Prompto says, and then: "Oh-em-gee, do you think – "

Ignis' palm hits against the metal side, and he heaves the lid up; there's no snow on it, which Gladio should have noticed. He hurries to lend Iggy a hand, just as Prompto shines his light in and then hauls himself up to drop inside. The air inside is stale and the rubbish long rotted to a sludge. Prompto's boots crunch on the frozen stuff.

"Two for you, Igster," Prompto says, with a weird manic energy, part glee and part fury. "Big one first." He holds up a child – tiny, perhaps two or three – and passes it into Ignis' hands. Ignis takes it, frowning at how still it is, and lays it out on the ground quickly, standing just in time to grab the baby whose weak cries had been what he'd heard.

Prompto pulls himself out with a quick flip, and Gladio lets the lid down as quietly as he can, not wanting to attract anything. The light reaches partway down the alley, but the shadows are deep.

"The kid's breathing," Prompto says, picking the prone form up and heading out toward the airship. "Could be the cold. That thing wasn't much shelter."

"But they did survive," Ignis says. Gladio looks over at him and blinks. In the space of a minute Ignis has tucked the baby inside his coat, his own cap pulled down over wispy curls. He looks very practiced, like some daemon-slaying nanny.

Gladio watches in bemusement as Prompto hangs onto Ignis' arm to steer him toward the airship, and then recalls himself. He grabs the corpse of the kids' father – maybe – and drags him out to where the mercenaries are.

In the end, they don't bring either of the bodies in the airship. There's no telling if they're infected. Their pockets are turned out, but neither of them was carrying a wallet with handy ID. There's a bag with diapers in the wreckage of the car, a couple bottles of water, and a ragged quilt.

Aranea doesn't want to take the kids to Lestallum, arguing that their parents had obviously been headed somewhere before they were waylaid. Ignis says if she can figure out where that is, they can most certainly deliver the children there; he sounds reasonable in the way he gets when he's got his back up and is prepared to resort to violence or cutting sarcasm to get his way.

Aranea rolls her eyes at him. Like everyone else, the kids have been rubbed down with towels and changed into dry clothing (over-sized, but still warm). Gladio has strict rules about using their limited supply of potions, but Prompto didn't even need to make puppy eyes to make him break them; Gladio's not heartless. The toddler chirked up once his wrenched arm and head injury were taken care of, and the baby seemed fine but curatives can't hurt, right? 

Ignis has both kids now, one perched on each knee, safe in the circle of his arms. Prompto digs Noct's old moogle doll out of the armiger and attempts to provide entertainment. The baby seems keen, grabbing at the toy like she wants to pull it apart, but the toddler just plasters himself to Ignis' chest, wide-eyed and wary. Ignis' hand strokes down his side in a steady reassuring rhythm, and he's keeping up a quiet narrative, telling the child everyone's names, talking about the airship, commenting on the moogle's antics. He doesn't ask questions. The kid hasn't spoken yet, but even Aranea's not about to try interrogating him. No one wants to trigger desperate sobbing and searching for a dead mother and father.

Ignis had been four when his parents were killed. He and his uncle had stayed at Gladio's place for a week or so after their deaths, while his uncle had looked for a new home more suitable than the dormitory he'd been living in. Gladio'd still been an only child then, and he remembers being a self-centered little prick, annoyed that he had to share his room and his toys with Ignis, who didn't say much beyond please and thank you, and cried at night and wet the bed.

He wonders if Ignis is remembering that now. It seems likely.

While the past can't be changed, Gladio's not a brat any more, and he likes Ignis better now. He crosses over to where Ignis is seated on the edge of a cot and settles in next to him.

"Hm?" Ignis is too preoccupied to be properly curious, distracted by the attention he has to focus on the kids and whatever he's worrying about.

"Feeling in a hugging mood," Gladio says, and goes for it, putting his arm around Ignis' shoulders.

Ignis sags into the touch so fast he startles himself and stiffens, muttering an apology.

"Yeah, no," Gladio says. Ignis is a master at masking his own feelings, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. "I got you. What're you thinking about so hard?"

Ignis shakes his head, but his shoulder presses against Gladio's and Gladio gives him an encouraging squeeze. That's what he's here for, to be leaned on metaphorically and literally.

"I can't," Ignis starts, and then stops there, like that's a complete thought. Like whatever he's contemplating is utterly impossible.

Everyone within earshot figures out what he means, though. The mercenaries keep on bustling around, making room for the cases of seeds incoming and trying to give the tableau at the bed some illusion of privacy. Aranea looks over and meets Gladio's eyes. She gives an exaggerated shrug and says, "Not like you to give up without trying, four-eyes."

Ignis is driven and loyal, like Gladio is; their respect for each other is based on that, as well as their bitterest arguments. They both had luxurious lives back in Insomnia, but their training means they can do without and not complain. Ignis' weaknesses had been fancy clothes, cars, and food, but he's never admitted to missing any of that. He can sleep outdoors on bare rock and still rise rested; for all that he devoted so much time preparing meals for Noct, he never fails to compliment the basic rations Aranea's cook dishes up.

So Gladio gets where he's coming from. Having kids is a much bigger deal than getting a pet. But still... "Sure you can," he counters, rubbing Ignis' shoulder. "Lestallum fucking loves kids." Prompto punches him in the knee, hissing _language_. "I'll help. Iris can dig up clothes that fit."

"You can count on me," Prompto adds, full of self-mocking bravado, like he thinks, what, Ignis might turn him down? Gladio nudges him with his boot. If he's not allowed to swear in front of the kids, Prompto's not allowed to put himself down. Prompto blushes, and then shoots Gladio a scrunched-up expression. "I guess I already changed two diapers, what's a thousand more?"

"We have a job," Ignis says, but he's leaning against Gladio now. Gladio feels like he just got a stray cat to accept scritches.

"So did my dad," Gladio points out.

Ignis sighs, and then finally his head settles on Gladio's shoulder. "I don't even know what they look like."

"So ask?" Prompto says, like the obvious solution is that simple and easy. "Professional photographer here. Tell me you're a fan of brown hair and eyes?"

"Like Gladio's," Ignis says. He sounds like he's smiling. "Very aesthetically pleasing."

"Aw, shucks," Gladio says.

As Prompto talks, the baby finally gets hold of the moogle and tosses it; Gladio snaps his free hand out and just barely manages to catch it. The toddler, startled, hiccups like he's about to cry, and Gladio shoves the doll into the kid's arms while Prompto produces a lens cap for the baby to gnaw on. 

"What was that?" Ignis asks, a familiar edge of irritation to his words as he straightens up.

"Awesome teamwork," Prompto says blithely. "You're going to have your hands full, man."

"I already do, it seems," Ignis says, and Gladio pulls him back into place at his side. They're a team for now; he imagines in a year they'll be family. And when Noct returns, they'll absorb him as well. His arms are big enough to hold them all close and keep them safe, watch and see.


End file.
